


Object A

by snowteeth (bluedreaming)



Category: GOTH (Manga), Goth (2008)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:09:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/pseuds/snowteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches Morino sometimes. The curve of her wrist, the darkness of her hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Object A

**Author's Note:**

> I was complaining about the lack of fic on the GOTH ao3 tag and [](http://lattelotus.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lattelotus.livejournal.com/)**lattelotus** reminded me about shiritori.  <3  
> The title is from [track two](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNcPS7AhXOE&index=8&list=PL2733F88AFE2D687E) of the live action soundtrack.

 

 

 

He watches Morino sometimes. The curve of her wrist, the darkness of her hair.

"Do you like Morino?" Ayano asks, their heads bent over the physics homework. Kamiyama despises her, secretly, but he only smiles. Her eyes pool dark, limpid.

"She came late and was blocking the whiteboard," he says, and shrugs, disguising a twitch. Ayano's arm is too close and her thick wrist flops against the desk. Not even the delicate flower manicure adoring her fingernails distracts from it.

Ayano giggles, a nervous sound, and Kamiyama's fingers, beneath the desk, close around air. "You're so cool," she says, her voice a breathy sigh, "and so good at physics too."

Kamiyama only nods, and inclines his head. He _is_ good at physics, and flattering people, and learning their weaknesses.

Morino has a thin white line, breaking the otherwise uninterrupted expanse of pale wrist, but it only makes her strong.

 

 

 

"Pass the sugar," she says, lifting the handle of the spoon, draped across the saucer, with nimble fingers. Her coffee is stained with white, and he watches as she lifts the sugar tongs and deposits three cubes into the cup. There's barely a ripple as they disappear beneath the surface.

"Where were you this morning?" he asks, lifting his own cup to his lips. The coffee flows, bitter and dark, over his tongue. Kamiyama smiles.

"This and that," Morino evades, stirring the spoon counter-clockwise through her coffee. She lifts the spoon, raising it to her mouth before setting it back down on the saucer. Anyone but Kamiyama would have missed the wince, but Kamiyama has made a study of her motions, a blueprint of the way Morino's body fits together. She is the extension of her wrists, more than the sum of her parts, and he reaches out. It's instinct, the way his fingers hover above her forearm in response to the faintest flicker of her eyelids.

"Remember your promise," Kamiyama says. His eyes meet hers in the dimness of the cafe; there's a pause, and then she raises her arm so that his fingers graze the fabric of her sleeve, their skin separated only by a thin layer of fabric.

Between them, there's no need for words as banal as _yes_.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted for [sonic shiritori](http://writetomyheart.livejournal.com/509179.html).


End file.
